Labradorite has always been my favorite stone. That electric flash of peacock blues, fiery golds, and spectral greens; it seizes me with its first iridescent shimmer, then winks seductively just as my gaze drifts away. Pure, heart-stopping magic.

A few years ago, after my little sister died suddenly, I unearthed a small polished piece from her personal treasures. Its cool, smooth weight in my palm felt like a secret hug—she loved it too. I’ve carried it close ever since, a solid anchor to her in the fading echoes of time.

Fishing my keys out of my pocket earlier this week, I heard the faint clack of something tumbling free—then the sharp, sickening crack against the cold porcelain tile. My stomach dropped. There it lay, appearing whole on the floor at my feet.

Hopeful, I picked it up, fingers confirming missing mass on the other side. Tears burned hot down my cheeks right in front of my friend, that irrational ache clawing at me, “If only I could rewind five seconds”.

My friend murmured, “Everything happens for a reason.” I inwardly waved off that thought. But days later? That damn rock started whispering truths I couldn’t ignore.

This week, I’m immersed in Chapter 4 of “The Master Key System”. Each morning, I’m reading, “The ‘I’ of you is not the physical body… nor the mind. They’re just instruments.”

Now, cradling the broken labradorite as I have done many times throughout the week, I trace its raw fracture with fingers, and then observe it under varying lights. In many ways it’s more alive than before.

I still get to admire its unbroken beauty on one side, but the real fireworks? Not the subtle surface glow I love, but right there in the fresh split—where sunlight pours straight into its velvet blue-black core, exploding in raw, untamed auroras of sapphire and molten copper that dance like captive northern lights.

Just like me.

The last five years have cracked me wide open; jagged blow upon jagged blow, piling up. My sister’s sudden loss of course marks the deepest, most shattering wound.

In those moments, the pain was beyond words to express: raw throat, heaving sobs, the metallic taste of grief. But those fractures? They pried me open. No more hiding my true “I” beneath a glossy, guarded shell, trembling in the shadows.

Through the ache, I’m grateful. These breaks don’t just expose us—they let our deepest light blaze, fierce and unfiltered.

“What’s your labradorite moment—the fracture that made you shine?”